“Good night.”
The storm raged outside. Wind screamed through the trees, rain battered the shutters, and somewhere in the distance, something crashed—a branch, maybe, or a piece of loose roofing giving up its fight against the weather.
Maybe it was the exhaustion. Maybe it was the strange comfort of another presence in the darkness, someone else’s warmth nearby, even with pillows between them. Maybe it was just the rain, that relentless drumming that smoothed every sharp edge into white noise.
His eyes closed.
And the dream was waiting.
She couldn’t stop listening to him breathe.
Which was ridiculous. Jayden had shared quarters with assets before. Slept in safe houses with strangers. Once spent a week in a truck bed with a man twice her size who snored hard enough to shake the earth.
This was different.
The storm had softened to a steady rain, drumming on the cabin’s corrugated roof. In the darkness, Dakota’s breathing was the only other sound. Slow. Even. The rhythm of someone who’d trained himself to sleep anywhere, anytime, under any conditions.
She knew that kind of sleep. She possessed the skills for that kind of sleep.
But tonight, lying two feet away from him, she couldn’t find them.
She didn’t expect to feel safe. She’d spent years training herself to sleep light, wake fast, trust no one. She could snap awake at the slightest wrong sound.
But lying in the darkness with Dakota beside her, the rain pattering on the roof, she felt . . . calm. Protected. Like nothing bad could happen as long as he was there.
Which was absurd. She didn’t need protection. She was the protection.
The wooden shutters filtered the sound of the storm, turned the violence of the weather into something almost musical.
Dakota shifted beside her. She held her breath until he stilled again.
This is fine. Everything is fine.
She closed her eyes. Tried to match her breathing to his. Let the rain become white noise, let the warmth of the bed pull her under?—
Dakota’s breathing changed. Quickened. She heard him mutter something—words she couldn’t make out at first. Then clearer: “Sir.” His voice sounded younger. Uncertain. “The threat assessment?—”
He was dreaming.
She held still, listening.
“The intercepts—” He shifted restlessly. The pillow wall between them rustled. “Sir?—”
Then he shouted. Not words—just a raw, broken sound that tore through the darkness.
Jayden was out of the bed before her brain caught up with her body. Training kicked in—she dropped into a crouch beside the nightstand.
But there was no intruder. No attack.
Just Dakota, thrashing in the blue sheets, fighting something only he could see.
“No—” His voice was raw, broken. “Get down; get down?—”
His arm swung out. She ducked as it destroyed the pillow wall. His eyes flew open—wild, unseeing, the eyes of a man still trapped in whatever darkness snarled his mind.
“Dakota.” She turned on the light and crawled back onto the bed, her voice calm. “Dakota, wake up. You’re safe. You’re in Fiji. It’s just a dream.”
He wasn’t hearing her. His body twisted, muscles straining, and sweat sheened his face.
